


Cut the Strings, Pinocchio

by neversaydie



Series: Like Real People [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Cat Dads, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Binary Bucky, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-War, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 21:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4977217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why are you wearing a dress?"</p>
<p>"It's cute. Nat said." Bucky shrugs and glances at himself in the mirror again. "It is cute, right? She wasn't bullshitting me?"</p>
<p>"It's… a woman's dress." Steve seems stuck on that part, caught in the bedroom doorway with his jacket halfway off one shoulder. Natasha promised the dress was cute, why is Steve looking at him like he's wearing something ridiculous?</p>
<p>"It's my dress, I bought it." Bucky frowns, confused.</p>
<p>[in which Steve is protective, Bucky tries to person, and everyone has to help them sort their shit out.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut the Strings, Pinocchio

"Why are you wearing a dress?"

"It's cute. Nat said." Bucky shrugs and glances at himself in the mirror again. The dark-blue dress is a light woollen fabric, cut to the knee with a scoop neckline and full-length sleeves. It's a little tight on the biceps, but the material stretches enough that it's still comfortable to wear. It doesn't snag on the plates of his metal arm, which is the important thing. "It is cute, right? She wasn't bullshitting me?"

"It's… a woman's dress." Steve seems stuck on that part, caught in the bedroom doorway with his jacket halfway off one shoulder. Natasha promised the dress was cute, why is Steve looking at him like he's wearing something ridiculous?

"It's my dress, I bought it." Bucky frowns, confused and starting to draw into himself because he doesn't understand the situation and his instincts tell him to go on the defensive just in case. "Seriously, does it look awful? I need something to wear to Clint's birthday thing on Friday."

"It… Bucky, I think we need to talk about this." Steve rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. That's it, Bucky has definitely done something wrong by accident. Again. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to wear that to Clint's party."

"Why?" Steve really looks constipated about this, and Bucky knows that face only shows up when he's struggling with whether or not to tell Bucky something or spare his feelings and lie. It makes his spine itch with irritation. "Don't blow smoke up my ass, Steve. What is it?"

"It's just… Can I come in?" Bucky nods and Steve comes into the room, finally pulling off his jacket all the way before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He doesn't exactly pat the covers expectantly, but Bucky understands that he's supposed to join him so goes to sit down too, crossing his ankles nervously. "You know I support whatever makes you happy, right?"

"Yeah." He thinks so, anyway. Steve tells him enough, as if repetition makes something truer, like saying the creed every Sunday in the dusty church he half-remembers on a good day.

"So you know I'm behind you wearing or… presenting however makes you feel good." The terminology is still a little stiff in his mouth, but it's just another thing they didn't have words for when they were young and they need to wrap their heads around now. "Your hair, your nails, your… eyeliner and stuff. I support you whatever."

"But… not the dress?" Bucky slowly tries to parse out the reasoning, because Steve is being obtuse and implication doesn't exactly work for him these days.

"No, no the dress is fine if it makes you feel good." Steve rubs at his stubbly chin and doesn't look at Bucky, and that's always (as far as Bucky remembers, anyway) been his tell for when he's trying to choose his words with care. "It's being out of the Tower in the dress. In public."

"Which is… bad?" Bucky frowns and tries desperately to remember if there's something he's supposed to know about not wearing dresses in public. This is fucking complicated. Has he done something wrong? "But Nat wears dresses in public all the time."

"That's because she's a girl, she can wear dresses." It seems like Steve has said something wrong, because he curses under his breath and gets all flustered (like he used to when he tried to talk to girls, tripping over himself and correcting every second word and generally looking _like a fuckin' putz, Stevie no wonder you can't get a dance_ ). "I mean, of course you can wear dresses too. It's just… in public. People won't be happy about you wearing it in public."

"Because I'm… not a girl?" Bucky tries, still slow in getting the concept through his head, and Steve nods with a slightly relieved expression. Bucky's still not sure he thinks this makes sense. "So if I'm supposed to be a boy, wearing… girl clothes is only appropriate indoors?"

"Yeah. Something like that." Steve nods again, and he really does look relieved that Bucky is following his logic. Too relieved, how long has he been waiting to tell Bucky what he's doing wrong?

The uncertainty rushes over him in waves, drowning out all other thought with questions. How long has Steve been letting Bucky break social conventions because he was too chickenshit to tell him otherwise? Have the rest of the team been playing along and lying to him too? Even Sam and Natasha? Do they think he's still too _Asset_ to handle behaving like a real person?

"Oh." Bucky says, faintly, suddenly feeling _ridiculous_ in the soft fabric draped over his knees delicately, unlike the strong lines of Steve's jeans. He feels so _embarrassed_. "I didn't realise."

"It's not your fault, I know this stuff is difficult to figure out." Steve reaches over and squeezes his hand with a reassuring smile, which Bucky does his best to return even though he really doesn't feel like it. "I just don't want you to feel embarrassed, that's all. People are still assholes in the future, y'know?"

"As if that was ever gonna change." He forces some of that dry drawl into his tone, the kind that slips out sometimes and must be then-Bucky because it always makes Steve smile to hear it. He wants Steve to be happy, because maybe then he won't notice Bucky's hand starting to shake.

As soon as he's alone, Bucky rips off the dress and hides it under his bed, then thinks better of it and shoves the stupid thing onto the floor in the back of his closet where he'll never have to look at it again. It's like his eyes are pulled to everything he's been doing wrong as he straightens up and looks around the room. He has earrings and makeup on his dresser, he has a stuffed bear on his bed, he has the cute cat poster Sam gave him that says 'Never Give Up!' on the wall. Are they all wrong too? Steve doesn't have anything like them, they must be wrong.

Bucky feels _humiliated_ , hot and sick and dizzy in his chest and stomach. He's been doing so many things _wrong_ and nobody told him because _he's_ still wrong.

It all goes into the trash, along with the nail polish and the colourful hairbands and anything fluffy or sparkly or _inappropriate_ from his closet. His hand shakes and he hesitates over the pink sweater he wears when things are really bad, when he's panicking or dealing with bad flashbacks, because he doesn't know how he'll cope without the safety blanket. It escapes the trash and goes under his bed instead, and even then Bucky feels guilty about keeping it. Maybe it's okay as long as he wears it when nobody can see him, he can tell JARVIS to turn off the cameras. Maybe they won't know he's still doing something wrong if he's careful about it.

He locks himself in the bathroom and grabs the scissors from the medicine cabinet. He wants to be a _person_ , desperately, and he'll do whatever it takes. Even if it hurts.

*

"You cut your hair."

Natasha has that look on her face, the one she makes when Bucky knows she's disguising how she really feels beneath a blank mask of neutrality, and he's pretty sure he blushes under the scrutiny. She's been sizing him up ever since he and Steve got to the bar (he doesn't have to worry about blowing cover, this isn't a mission), and he's not surprised that her first comment is as blunt as a blow to the head.

"Figured it was time to smarten up. Seemed more practical." He lies, smoothly, because _two can play at that game Natalia_. 

"What happened to the blue dress?" She asks, looking Bucky over sceptically. There's no way she buys his non-answer, of course, but nobody is allowed to _make_ him answer their questions anymore. They promised they wouldn't, and until he has evidence otherwise he's going to let himself be optimistic and believe it.

He's wearing black jeans (not too tight, the internet said that was girly) and a dark blue t-shirt (the internet said it was okay for that to be tight, but no scoop necklines or deep-Vs) with a black button-up over the top, along with his combat boots that are definitely not feminine. He feels plain and decidedly un-pretty, especially without the familiar weight of his hair as a comfort (cutting it had caused a panic attack, because the sudden lightness and coldness had dragged the memory of the time HYDRA shaved his head to attach electrodes _more directly for a more precise wipe_ kicking and screaming into the light, but he'd been quiet about it so Steve didn't know). It's an unpleasant feeling, but he doesn't think he'd feel better standing there embarrassed in the soft blue dress either.

Maybe being uncomfortable is how real people feel. Bucky just wants to be a real person, even if it apparently sucks.

"I didn't feel like it." He shrugs, actually telling the truth to a degree, and he can tell it throws Natasha. His face is clean of eyeliner and there's no polish on his nails, and coupled with the short hair he could almost be something out of one of Steve's pictures of the past. He could _almost_ be James B. Barnes, Brooklyn-born war hero and all-around swell guy.

Bile creeps up his throat and he swallows it down discreetly with a sip of his drink. That's not what's happening, nobody is trying to make him be _James Barnes_ again. He's playing a part, sure, but it's just now-Bucky without the inappropriate femininity. The words even sound wrong in his head, but he ignores them because Steve knows more about being a person than he does and this is what Steve said he should do.

Barton's party passes in a blur for Bucky, too caught up in his head to really notice what's going on outside of his own behaviour (self-conscious and measured but not robotic, they always got angry when he got robotic on them _pretending you can't feel shit huh I'll make you feel it you fucking_ ). An intoxicated Clint complains loudly about his haircut ("Aw c'mon, I just learned how to do twisted knot buns off Youtube! Nat, grow your hair for me?"), but Steve keeps sneaking glances at Bucky and smiling to himself, and the warmth that sparks in his chest is enough to shrug off Clint's good-natured grumbling. Bucky drinks enough alcohol that it interacts favourably with at least one of his medications and he actually gets tipsy, takes the risk and holds Steve's hand as they decide to walk back to the Tower instead of waiting for a cab.

They part outside Bucky's bedroom door, because he's supposed to try and sleep on his own if he can, although realistically he ends up in Steve's bed more than half the time (nightmares aren't always bad enough to leave him wanting to rip his skin off, but when they are he needs someone to supervise him even if he doesn't actually tell them why). Maybe soon he'll work up the courage to admit that he wants to stay in Steve's bed on a more regular basis, but for now he's starting to feel shaky after so much social interaction all in one go and needs to decompress.

Steve smiles broadly at him, sunny like the shade of something Bucky half remembers, and before he knows he's moving Bucky is tipping his face up to kiss the corner of that smile. Steve's ears turn pink and Bucky twitches a smile of his own ( _aw that's cute he wants to cuddle is that what it is princess I can be sweet to you if you're good for_ ) and retreats into his bedroom, trying to look like he's not hurrying. He waits until footsteps fade down the hall to lock the door behind him.

The panic slams into him all at once, the dimly-lit room turning too bright and hazy as oxygen becomes a luxury in his brain. He kissed Steve, he _asked_ for it, what's there to stop him from taking –

Bucky is shaking like a leaf, brittle as autumn as he slides to the floor and relies on his metal arm to drag him over to the bed. His usually precise hand fumbles through the various weapons and books he has stashed under it to find the soft sweater that calms him, that's so unlike HYDRA ( _cold ice cold steel cold tables cold in his veins cold_ ) it forces him into the present. The Asset wants to come out, Bucky can feel it itching behind his eyelids, and he squeezes them shut against the temptation to check out.

He keeps his eyes closed as he yanks the sweater on clumsily, as if not seeing the colour will make him feel less guilty about wearing it. Bucky curls into himself and presses his cheek against the rough carpet, lets the contrast between sensations ground him. Tonight was more overwhelming than he'd expected it to be, he's been doing much better and the only difference was that he wasn't acting like a…

_Fairy_?

Why is it on the tip of his tongue? Why can he remember that word? From when? Who?

Bucky stays curled up in a ball until the sun comes up through the bulletproof windows, running his flesh thumb over the fluffy pink material that he's too weak to destroy. He doesn't sleep.

*

It's a not-good day, creeping into bad day territory. Bucky's been having more of them over the past month, he (tells himself stubbornly that he) doesn't know why.

Sam is a good person to be around on a not-good day, because he has not-good days of his own and knows how to handle them, even if he prefers to retreat and be alone when he's feeling bad himself. He spends his working life around people who might need him to back off, who might need to avoid certain things to avoid flashing back to a place they really don't want to remember, so he has an ease with Bucky's issues that takes some of the pressure off. Steve and Natasha are also good to be around, but they're less comfortable and more anxious, and really Bucky feels guilty making them handle him when they're not okay with it.

So Sam is his go-to guy for when things aren't hanging together so well in his head, and they've become close friends in the process. Sam is the first one who notices there's something wrong.

"Did you sleep?"

Bucky's been shaking himself apart between the couch and the coffee table for the past twenty minutes, and it's only getting worse. They'd been watching TV, some Lifetime movie neither of them were really following in favour of arguing about music, when Bucky slid off the couch and curled into himself protectively before the shaking started. Sam has run through most of the checklist, the things they know that set Bucky off and make the episodes more likely, but so far they've hit a bust.

"Couple hours." Bucky grits out, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He's cold ( _just out of cryo too weak to defend himself when they come and toocoldtooweak_ ), why does he have to get cold when this shit happens?

"Nightmares?" That gets a head shake and Sam sighs through his nose in frustration, he hates seeing his friend like this when he can't figure out how to help. He notices the shivering and stands up from where he's been crouched beside Bucky, careful to do it slowly and not loom over him. "You're cold, I'll get your—"

"No! I don't need it." Bucky cuts him off quickly, shaking his head violently and burying his face in his knees when he realises there's no hair left for him to hide behind. The odd reaction stops Sam in his tracks, because Bucky's been acting weird for a few weeks now but this is a whole new level of strange.

"Bucky, why don't you want your sweater?" Silence, no response except the laboured breathing of a looming panic attack. Sam doesn't touch him, but he moves a little closer to get Bucky's attention. He's shockingly unafraid of being clocked with a metal fist, or at least that's how he seems, and the trust makes Bucky's stomach squeeze uncomfortably every time he thinks about it. "Buck, you're panicking. Your sweater helps you calm down, can I please get it for you?"

There's no point in asking him to explain what the problem is when he's got to this point, the only thing Sam can do is try to help Bucky calm down and worry about what's causing the issue later, once the storm has blown over. It takes a long minute for Bucky to get his head together enough to nod reluctantly, agreeing to let Sam go into his bedroom and get the soft pink sweater that he's so fucking ashamed to need right now.

As soon as he opens the bedroom door, Sam knows that something's off. It takes him a minute to figure out why his gut is telling him there's something different, being that he's only seen Bucky's room a handful of times as the guy is very private about his space now, but once he fails to find the sweater in the closet he figures it out: all Bucky's stuff is gone. There are clothes there, sure, but they're all dark or neutral colours and not what he's come to associate with _Bucky_. There's nothing on the walls, no nail polishes lined up neatly on the dresser, hardly a sign anywhere that Bucky and not the Asset lives here.

By the time Sam's fishing under the bed to try and find the sweater, he decides it might be time to cross the line between respecting Bucky's privacy and intervening before he crashes and burns. He texts Natasha a question, just fishing to see if she's noticed anything strange for now, before stowing his suspicions and going to help Bucky out of his episode if he can.

Sam doesn't want to jump the gun, not with something as fragile as Bucky's sense of self, but he's sure as hell not going to just sit back and do nothing. They're friends, and part of that is helping Bucky figure out what friendship means. Sometimes that's going behind your friend's back to figure out what's bugging him, and sometimes it's letting your friend cuddle you semi-painfully with his metal arm while you watch Looney Tunes and he tries to remember how to breathe.

Sam can do both. He can try, anyway.

*

Sam is the first one who notices something is wrong, but Natasha is the first to confront the issue. With Steve, specifically, because she's got a pretty good idea of how Bucky operates and he wouldn't be rejecting things that bring him comfort without some kind of outside influence. Steve is pretty much Bucky's only outside influence, the only one he really pays attention to anyway.

"What did you say to him?"

Steve is never going to get used to assassins popping out of walls, or in this case ceilings. Especially when he's half-naked in the gym locker-room. He takes a second to grab a shirt (and try not to think about how long Natasha's been watching him and whether or not she saw him air-guitar naked in front of the mirror while he had his headphones on) and pull it on before he answers, trying to maintain whatever's left of his dignity.

"Who? If this is about Clint's latex thing then I—"

"Barnes. What did you say to him?" Natasha isn't quite in Widow mode, but her stance and general demeanour suggest that Steve's going to end up in a headlock if he doesn't give her some answers. Fast.

"Today?" He must look genuinely confused, because Natasha's lips turn a shade paler as she purses them before explaining the situation in clipped syllables.

"He cut his hair off and stopped wearing clothes he likes. He's more self-conscious and he's been acting weird. Sam says he doesn't want to be comforted after his episodes. It's been a month or so." She steps closer and Steve, instinctively, steps back as she meets his eyes dead-on. "So, again. What did you say to him?"

"I didn't…" Steve murmurs initially, then trails off as he thinks back. Bucky has been doing so well lately, he's been acting more like Steve remembers and he's hardly seen any episodes. How can that be a bad thing? "He's getting his personality back, acting like himself again. Cutting his hair and getting back to his old self is a good thing, right?"

"He's not his 'old self', we talked about this." Natasha is still standing her ground firmly, and Steve figures he needs to remember whatever she thinks he did a month ago or he's going to end up like Tony after Thanksgiving (JARVIS can be bribed to reprogram the suits, enough said). "He was figuring himself out and then he suddenly stopped, why?"

"I don't know, Nat. I thought he was doing better." Steve doesn't shrug, because Bucky's welfare is too important to him for such a flippant gesture, but he really doesn't know what she's talking about. "I can't think of…"

Then it dawns on him, and he sits down on the bench in the middle of the stacks of lockers heavily because _shit_.

"Clint's party. That was when he cut his hair."

"And?" Natasha prompts, folding her arms and keeping her stance firm even as Steve sags and rests his elbows on his knees.

"I said it wasn't a good idea for him to wear a dress in public. He bought one for the party." He sighs emphatically and rubs a hand over his hair, still damp from his post-workout shower. "I didn't realise he'd take it to heart, I told him it was fine to wear whatever he wanted in the apartment."

"Why did you tell him not to wear the dress in public?" She's softened slightly, Steve can only tell from the slight relaxation of the corners of her mouth, but her scowl remains intact. "Why does it matter?"

"Back when we were young..." Steve almost scoffs at the expression, because they're still so fucking young, it's only been a few years in his mind since Bucky was angrily insisting he wasn't _like that_ on the corner of their block, face flushed with humiliation as he shoved his best friend up against a wall with startling violence. "Back then, if you were a guy that slept with guys then people expected you to be a fairy. To be feminine and wear makeup and… Bucky would hate people looking at him like that. I was trying to protect him."

"Back then. He would have hated it back then." Natasha is slightly less tense now that she's figured out what the issue is, but from the look of things they're probably equally uncomfortable in this conversation. Feelings aren't either of their strong points. "What makes you think the person he is now is going to give a fuck what anyone on the street thinks of him?"

"Because it's fucking hard! He doesn't remember!" Steve blurts out, the tips of his ears turning pink like they always did when he was small and his circulation was shitty. Bucky used to tease him for it and then kiss the pout off his lips and Steve _misses_ him so hard that some days he can barely find the strength to keep breathing. "People looking at you like you're a freak, laughing at you because you're not a real man if you're small or weak or too girly-looking. Bucky has to deal with enough shit already without people—"

"Okay, stop." Natasha holds up her hand, and Steve actually has to reel himself in because he's getting so worked up. He's surprised by his own reaction, just like he'd been surprised by the way Bucky lost his temper over the issue way back when. "That's your issue, Rogers. All your crap about not being manly enough back then, you can't put that onto him. He doesn't need your protection, not from something that was actually helping him figure out who he is."

"He doesn't know how the world is, Nat." He protests again, feeling prickly and irritated because it's not like he's trying to screw Bucky up for the hell of it. "He doesn't remember what people are like when someone doesn't fit the mould."

"You need to do some reading, because things have changed since the thirties." Which is probably true, but it's still Natasha's usual cryptic way of speaking and it doesn't help Steve figure out what the fuck he's done wrong now. "Don't fuck him up more."

With that note, she's gone before Steve can even raise his head to deliver a comeback. He clenches his fists so hard his knuckles crack to suppress the urge to punch another locker (Stark is threatening to start charging him for repairs if he keeps breaking things when he loses his temper). Being friends with spies is hard, he figures he should probably talk to somebody more his own speed.

*

"Dude, have you looked at Bucky lately? Do you really think anyone is gonna fuck with _that_ guy, whatever he's wearing?"

Sam is definitely not backing up Steve's argument the way he'd hoped. It's more than a little disheartening (and sours his white chocolate frappe-whatever the fuck Sam ordered him even more than the shitty music piping over the coffee shop speakers), because it means that maybe he genuinely has missed something. Maybe he's really fucked Bucky up this time by accident. That's probably why he's on the defensive despite Sam's careful tone.

"I'm not worried about him getting beat up, Sam." He chews on his lip for a second before recognising the nervous tell he's picked up from Bucky (that he'd had even back when he was Bucky and not _Bucky_ ) and forces himself to stop. "I'm worried about him feeling humiliated."

"After the shit he's been through, I doubt some kid laughing at him on the subway could make him feel humiliated." Sam mutters half to himself, and Steve is shot through with a flash of the blinding anger that overtakes him whenever he thinks about the things HYDRA kept out of the Winter Soldier's files, but he swallows it down without saying anything. This isn't about him, he needs to keep reminding himself of that.

"The world's different now. I'm serious." Sam holds his hands up when Steve looks at him like he's about to call bullshit so loudly their ears ring. That's not ideal for the middle of Starbucks on a Tuesday afternoon. "It's not perfect, no. There are people who'll object to a guy walking around in a dress, but there are less of them and it's not like Bucky can't handle himself. And dude, it's New York. People see stranger shit than a guy in a skirt every day."

Steve rubs the heel of his hand into his right eye, swallowing a yawn because he's irritable and tired as fuck after staying up all night reading increasingly-confusing articles about _gender identity_ online. There are so many different things people can _be_ now, and none of it had ever occurred to him before Bucky started looking more feminine because he'd just never encountered it. Steve feels like he's only barely understanding the terminology, how can he possibly handle whatever the hell Bucky's dealing with without fucking him up even more by accident?

"The only reason he feels embarrassed about dressing the way he wants is because you told him he should, and you're his yardstick for normal." Sam points it out gently enough, but Steve still feels conflicted as hell over simultaneously fucking up and not realising it was even possible to fuck up like this. He feels like that a lot around Bucky these days, and he _misses_ his-Bucky so much it makes him feel guilty to even admit to himself. "Whether it's a blessing or a curse, he doesn't really understand _normal_ outside of that. I don't think he cares what anyone else thinks."

"I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do." Steve admits, quietly, and Sam knows how hard it is for him to show weakness so wisely doesn't say anything until he's forced the complete thought out. "This stuff is totally new to me. If… I dunno if I could walk around with him in a dress or… whatever, not yet. I'd be embarrassed. I know I'm not supposed to be, but…"

"Hey, you've gotta adjust. You can't expect to be perfect at dealing with this stuff automatically, it takes time." Sam reaches out and pats Steve's elbow, a small gesture of support when he can't really help. "Don't beat yourself up, the important part is that you're trying."

"Doesn't exactly feel important. Bucky's the one who has to handle this shit and _I'm_ supposed to be supportive and not make him feel worse." Steve realises he's chewing on his lip again, but part of him feels less inclined to quell the bad habit because it was Bucky's. "I miss him. My him."

"I know." Sam's face folds sympathetically, because loss is something he can relate to even if he's fumbling his way through the rest of this issue. "But you've still got part of him, that's gotta count for something, right?"

It's only when he says it in those words that Steve realises: it does. He's been so busy mourning _his_ Bucky that he hasn't fully committed to working things out with Bucky now. There are flashes of familiarity and tidal waves of difference, but as a whole there's something between them that remains, even if it's changed so much it took Steve a while to recognise its heart beating.

He's not losing Bucky, whoever he is now. Never again.

*

It's late evening, still too early for either of them to sleep, when Steve finally works up the courage to seek Bucky out. He checks the common areas of their floor before he finally steels himself and sticks his head into Bucky's bedroom, finding his friend (friend, boyfriend, sergeant, he doesn't know anymore) curled up on the bed with Jager sleeping in his lap. The cat stirs and perks its ears up when Steve knocks on the doorframe, but settles immediately when he sees it's only Wrong Dad.

Bucky is less easy to soothe. He shifts uncomfortably, avoiding Steve's eyes just like he's been avoiding him altogether over the past week. He's clearly been counting on them being equally awkward and not bringing up whatever's causing tension between them until it goes away naturally, but Steve isn't going to let that happen anymore. That's how he used to do things with Bucky back then, and as everyone keeps reminding him, this isn't _then Bucky_ anymore.

"You alright?" He leans against the doorframe with his hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, and Bucky shrugs after a beat of silence. It's only now that Steve notices the walls are bare, that things are back to being as stark and utilitarian as they were when Bucky was first released from the secure psych ward Stark Industries had detained him in as soon as it became clear the Tower wouldn't contain him. It doesn't look like anyone lives here anymore, not counting the laptop and the cat.

 "You talked to Natasha." Bucky doesn't answer the question, which is kind of unhelpful but his treatment team have been working on getting him to feel safe enough to defy implied orders, so Steve guesses it's kind of a positive response.

"She kinda talked to me, actually." Steve moves inside the door awkwardly, but he doesn't walk over to the bed and sit down. That trust isn't intact right now, and even if Bucky kissed him right when this whole mess started he can't be sure that it wasn't a fawn response now he has context. "You threw away a bunch of your clothes and stuff."

Bucky shrugs, curling his flesh hand protectively over Jager's head and accidentally waking the cat. He stretches with a soft trill and hops out of Bucky's lap, trotting out of the bedroom without so much as pausing to rub his head against Steve's leg. It leaves Bucky defenceless, nothing to hide behind, and he crosses his arms uncomfortably over his chest as a poor substitute.

"When I talked to you before Clint's party, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine, Steve. I'm not gonna dress like a girl. I don't want to." The statement is a struggle for Bucky to force out, just like saying 'no' to anything had been back when he first came in from the cold. It breaks Steve's heart that he's made him feel like that again. "I know it's weird, just nobody told me until then. You were right to stop me being weird. Sorry."

"No, I wasn't right. Not at all, Buck." Steve shifts uneasily in the doorway as Bucky stares at him like he doesn't understand if this is a trick or not. Consistency is important for him when it comes to understanding things at the moment, and this U-turn doesn't exactly fit the bill. "I was putting my own issues on you and it wasn't fair. I didn't realise I was doing it. Back… Back when you can't remember, people used to pick on me because of how I looked, because I wasn't manly enough… I was worried about the same thing happening to you. I'm sorry."

Bucky just looks at him for a moment, and there's nothing Steve can do but look right back. He's wearing thick black jeans, a grey SHIELD-issue hooded sweater that Steve thinks is his, and his short hair makes him look young and angular. He looks tired and definitely not happy. It hits Steve like a punch to the gut that even though he looks more like the pictures in his sketchbooks, this guy doesn't look like _Bucky_ anymore.

"What's in the bag?" The question is cautious, a semi-deflection, and Steve's pretty sure Bucky still doesn't know whether to believe his apology or not.

"I, um, Nat told me your size." He moves close enough to hand over the plastic bag, retreating slightly as Bucky opens it and pulls out the contents. The dress is designed for casual day-wear, the woman in the store had informed him, in a soft, dark-green jersey fabric that's easy to move around in. There are black leggings to go with it too, because it's getting cold and Steve knows how Bucky hates that.

_This_ Bucky hates that. If he's honest with himself, Steve can't remember if his-Bucky hated the cold or not. Maybe this Bucky could be his too, if they work at it.

"I can take it back if you don't like it. I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry for being a jackass."

It's a tense few seconds before Bucky nods, looking up at him with a tiny curve to his lips.

"Your taste isn't as shitty as I remember."

"Your memory sucks." Steve shoots back automatically, tension flooding out of his shoulders in relief. They never really apologised to each other back in the day, but somehow this newness feels better than familiarity.

Bucky wears the dress to dinner with the rest of the team that night, habitually held in the big shared kitchen on Banner's floor. It's not outside the Tower, and there's still nervous tightness in his spine as he sits awkwardly between Clint and Steve, but nobody comments on his clothes and by the end of the meal Bucky is laughing at some story about the time Natasha threw Clint off a roof ("It was only four stories, he bounced.") and he looks _normal_. He even reaches out, under the table, and holds Steve's hand.

It's a start.

*

_"Look at that fuckin' fairy."_

_Bucky gestures with his chin and Steve tries to be subtle as he glances at the guys across the street. They're unmistakeably a couple, it would be obvious from how close they're standing even if the smaller guy weren't clearly wearing makeup. They don't get that many looks from passers-by, not in the gay quarter, but Steve suspects things are a lot different when they venture out of Brooklyn Heights. He just shrugs when he looks back at Bucky, because it's not like they're not sucking each other's dicks every chance they get. He wouldn't consider his fella the hateful type._

_"So?"_

_"He looks like a fuckin' girl, I thought that was kinda the opposite of what you're supposed to do if you're queer." Bucky wrinkles his nose slightly, and Steve just laughs._

_"You see fairies every fuckin' day, Buck."_

_"I know. I don't care what people do, but I just don't get it. If you're into guys you should look like a guy, right?" He seems to be thinking about it harder than usual, for some reason that Steve doesn't understand or care to puzzle out. "I mean, it's gotta be hard to live like that, you could get your ass kicked every five minutes. Why do it?"_

_"I dunno." Steve shrugs again, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk as they round the corner to their street. "Why don't you try it and find out?"_

_Before he has time to think or realise what's happening, Bucky has him up against the nearest wall by his collar, feet dangling a good few inches above the floor as he lets out a wheezy gasp of shock._

_"I'm not a goddamn fairy." The violence in his tone is shocking, but Steve notices the tremor in his hand as Bucky points a finger at his face. "You hear me?"_

_"I hear you. Cool down Bucky, Jesus." Steve batts his hands away and Bucky finally lets him go, looking slightly taken aback by his own behaviour. "What the goddamn hell's your problem?"_

_Bucky has the decency to look ashamed of himself, and he reaches out to roughly tug Steve's collar straight in a gesture of apology. They don't really say sorry to each other, they bicker too much for that, but this is the kind of situation where Steve would appreciate more than a gesture. Bucky seems to catch on to that after Steve doesn't move from his stance, staring up at him with narrowed eyes and all the patience five-feet of rage can exude._

_"Double shift left me wiped out, I guess. Messes with my head. Sorry." He grits out reluctantly, and it's close enough to an apology that Steve nods and they can continue walking home instead of having a domestic in the middle of the fucking street._

_This is one time Bucky is actually glad that the little guy doesn't push him for the truth that's hiding under his terrible non-excuse. He feels sick all the way home, begs off eating dinner to go straight to bed and bury his face in the pillow so Steve can't see him from across the room._

_Steve can never know that the underwear he found under the bed wasn't Mary O'Brien's, left there in a panic after her Da came looking for her one Friday night. He can never know about the stockings that are stashed under the loose floorboard below the sink. He can especially never know about the lipstick, the waxy red that Bucky keeps hidden in the box of his grandma's things because he knows Steve would never invade the privacy of the dead. Steve can never know that Bucky likes to feel pretty, because he's not a fucking fairy he's **not**. _

_Bucky gets rid of the evidence the next time he's alone in the apartment, telling himself he needs to get a grip and that the feelings will go away if he just stops doing this shit. The fact that they don't is something he ignores with whiskey and sex and working until he's tired enough that there's no room to care about anything, let alone pretty._

_Then the draft papers come, and there's no room for pretty in war._


End file.
